


The Impurity series

by SkySamuelle



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkySamuelle/pseuds/SkySamuelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some taints, no shower can ever wash away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impurity

_You're crazy. CRAZYCRAZY CRAZY._

The word hammers incessantly inside her head while Bonnie tugs her clothes off in a manic fury, throwing every discarded, suddenly suffocating garment on the bathroom's floor with a careless anger plain to see in every movement of her body.

The water is on and scalding before she's completely naked, and the witch gets under the steaming spray full on, flinching and hissing at the slight pain of the too hot jet hitting her skin.

She turns her face upward to the spray nonetheless, without bothering to switch the duvet. Right now, she needs the heat, the outside burn to erase the inner one.

She violently scrubs her throat until it hurts because that's the throat Damon kissed so thoroughly barely moments ago.

She can still feel it – his unexpectedly hot mouth suckling on every inch of the vulnerable skin there as his hands gripped her waist and kept her body molded to his.

She scrubs at her arms too; the arms that wrapped around his neck and held him close as she returned his kiss.

Horrible as it is to think, she would prefer if she could convince herself that he somehow forced or manipulated her into _it -t_ here must be more honor in being a victim than a cheap fuck.

But the truth is that she was upset and lonely and angry that the divide between her and her father was growing more and more since he had demanded that she give up her Craft and she had refused.

And Damon was just there, the way he seemed to always to be whenever her life went to shit.

Per usual, they had argued, all because the stupid vampire could never hold off riling her up whenever they were in each other's proximity, and she couldn't refrain rising to the challenge.

Bonnie remembers walking away from him, toward the Mystic Grill bathroom, and not being particularly surprised or eager to acknowledge him as he followed her. She remembers him gripping her elbow and turning her around, cornering her against the door as his lips slanted against hers.

She wishes she could forget kissing back.

It's nothing she can justify to herself. She kissed her personal devil and enjoyed it.

Despite whom he was and the things he had done, despite his utter disregard for human life.

She _let_ him touch her, creep his hands under her shirt so his caresses could brand her stomach and back, let him kiss her face, and she held his head against her flesh as he kissed her breasts through the lace of her bra.

It had not felt r _ight_ ; it had felt wrong but unavoidable, like another kind of gravity was pulling her body to his. When he murmured in her ear how much he wanted her, how much he had always wanted _this_ and how hot she was, Bonnie had wanted to laugh, because she felt so dirty and so exhilarated at the same time.

 _He is in love with Elena_ \- she had thought suddenly, as his fingers unbuttoned her jeans and that made it so much cheaper and her so much angrier that she could not help herself.

Her rage coiled like a hungry snake and struck out at him, leaving him bent and quivering on the floor as she readjusted her clothes.

" _This_ _never_ _happened._ " It was last thing she spat in his general direction before leaving without a second glance.

The fact that she stopped him doesn't make her feel any better. No, she feels dirty still.

She scratches and scrubs at her abraded skin but the taint of his hands and mouth won't leave. She feels him creeping under the surface as the fragmented memories of the pleasure she felt while they touched each other for the first time resurfaces.

Somehow, Damon Salvatore is inside her now, and maybe he has always been.

And the more she tries to shut out the condemning feeling, the more she feels fragmented and impure.

Her eyes water but Bonnie can't even tell whether it's from tears or the scorching hot shower water anymore. She can't even feel her face and damn, it serves her well.

Because even now there's a shame-filled half of her soul that wonders what _he_ must think of her now. Probably that all her hostility and threats were a way to draw his attention.

Or worse yet, that for all her judging, in the end, she was no different than all the sluts he brought back to the Mansion while he plotted his way inside Elena's heart and bed.

And it hurts, so much that Bonnie actually believes for a moment that her heart is going to stop beating.

Damon used to respect her, damn it, and now she has ruined it all for something she can't ever bear naming.

How is he going to take her seriously ever again?

And Bonnie hates _this fucking day_ , and _him_ and _herself_ for bringing her so low, to be this pathetic half-person who can't even live up to her principles.

"I am completely crazy," she sobs, sliding on the wet tiles until she is sitting down, her head between her hands.

Tomorrow, she will force herself to be stronger than this.


	2. Sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like any sinner, Damon wants what he has no right to demand.

Damon Salvatore stares sightlessly at the ceiling of his bedroom, stretched on his bed with his arms crossed.

He's trying to forget how idiotic it was on his part to think he could actually go from kissing Bonnie Bennett for the first time in a dark corner of the Mystic Grill to screwing her inside a public bathroom. Like she was just some slut he had picked up at a stupid bar.

_.Damn._

He knows Bonnie is not that kind of girl, of course: Bonnie Bennett is uptight and judgmental and full of silly rules for nearly everything. Basically the opposite of easy.

But somehow as she was in his arms the one thing his brain could process is that she was letting him kiss her. The realization that _she wanted him too_ had overwhelmed him so much that he had been blind to everything but the pressing need to take all he could from her at that moment.

Kissing her in first place had been pure hazard, he admits. He had not truly thought she would respond to him, just… she was _beautiful_ when she was pissed off at him. There was radiance from tension underlying her features and a nearly primitive glow in her coppery green eyes during their power plays that he just could not avoid reaching for her.

When he had grabbed her, the one idea in his head had been that he was tired of just watching her walk away from him (even if he was always quite partial to the proud sway of her hips as she did- the witch walks like a queen).

When she had kissed him back… he had felt something he still couldn't articulate, in between desire, pride, shock, and greed.

There are many reasons he loves Elena –she connects him to everything that matters in Mystic Falls (Stefan, Bonnie, Liz… all his human connections somehow comes back to Elena – without his pursuit of Elena he would have no one and what would he do with his life if he stopped the chase?). She is the one who could put up with his shit indefinitely, who makes him feel like he is anything but the rotten sinner he is. Elena does many things for him and really, if Elena – his most steadfast defender, the one who always strives to forget his many sins- can't love him, who can?

With Bonnie he is always intensely aware of how beneath her he is.

The witch is untouchable to him, someone too good and decent and bright-burning to be attainable to the likes of him. Like any sinner, Damon wants what he has no right to demand.

_Her scent of arousal, her tiny breathy sounds of passion, the taste of her mouth, the texture of her skin._

Now that he knew them, he could not let them go. His mind was simply stuck there, and on the harsh rage in her voice as she left him behind.

" _This_ _never_ _happened."_

He doesn't truly blame her.

Whereas most people demand from others more than they do from themselves, Bonnie demands so little from her friends and so impossibly much from herself. It's a quality about her he respects deeply.

And he didn't quite show it enough. Not by taking what she had offered to him and then demanding more, more than she could possibly give to a man who did not deserve her.

Is it his fault that he has never learnt to stop pushing for more? Probably. Yet …

Bonnie is everything he is not – the strength, the empathy, the firm grasp on right and wrong- but despite that and despite what she would like to believe, her heart and his speak the same extreme language.

It's both the dissonances and the similarities between them that fill him with hunger when she's close.

_Hunger of having her in his grasping distance, hunger to look at her, hunger to keep her attention on him._

He can't bring himself to chastise his following of impulses that come so naturally to him.

He is still a sinner, is he not? Unrepentant as ever.

Tomorrow, Damon will find the words to apologize.

He will make sure the witch finds him on her porch when she leaves for school, and he'll ambush her only to tell her he's sorry for overstepping his boundaries.

He will be earnest because this always shocks his little bird so much and then… well, Bonnie's likely to go in denial mode, all the same.

But his 'heartfelt gesture' will restore the natural order of things, and that's all that matters. At least until the next time.


	3. Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This kiss is different from their first and any other kiss she has ever received.

Bonnie doesn't exactly understand how or when the situation gets out control until it's too late to step back.

A spell takes far too much from her, as happens far too often in her hometown since she owned up to being a witch, and she opens her eyes sluggishly to finds herself lying down in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed.

Damon's bed, she understands as soon as she turns her head and finds him beside her, sitting on a chair staring at her unblinkingly, his chin between his clasped hands and with a pensive expression that makes his visage somehow alien.

He does not say anything, and she is too spent to move but tries anyway, instinctively wanting to get away.

Damon puts a firm hand on her chest, holding her down. "Rest," he has the gall to command. "I swore to the Scooby Gang I would guard your sorry ass until they came back."

Bonnie wants to ask where everyone else is, what they are doing, how long she has been out of it. She is annoyed that she can't clear her mind enough to formulate any of her questions: her mouth just hangs open and quivering, numb and voiceless, until Damon starts filling the silence with his usual endless string of words. He compares her to Emily, to Emily's daughter Nellie, to Grams' cousin Joyce.

She listens avidly with such a hunger for any scrap of information he possesses that she knows it must be reflected in her eyes. When he is done, the smirk on his lips is anticipating, self-satisfied and smug, but it doesn't stop her from demanding as gently as she can, "Tell me more about them."

And he does: Damon spills secrets on the Bennetts he has watched over, spinning every tale so colorfully that she almost feels like she has personally known a few of her ancestors.

At some point in his long confessional he stretches down at her side and she just scoots over, silencing the little voice that reminds to her that she is making a mistake.

When there's a pause and his hand moves to cradle her cheek, to tread through her hair ever so slowly, she knows she should flinch away, if only to show him that she has learnt from her past missteps. If she leans into his touch and stares into the metallic blue of his eyes, it's because his stories have lulled her into a false sense of safety and peacefulness. She has not felt this good in awhile, and she just wants to let it last.

"Thank you for letting me know them," she murmurs when his gaze feels too heavy on her features and the moment too fragile.

There's no smartass comment coming back to her, just his thumb stroking lazily her chin and his mouth covering hers.

This kiss is different from their first and any other kiss she has ever received. He kisses her with a tenderness she never considered him capable of and she accepts him with gratitude free of any resentment.

She had sworn to herself that she had forgotten all about that fevered, guilty make out session they had shared almost a year ago, but the desire rushes back from the very depth of her like they are merely finishing a dance they started a long time ago.

When the kiss ends she is breathless and her heart is racing as his lips travel downward, from her jaw to her throat to her collarbone, refusing to leave her skin for more than one second.

He glances up at her, expectant as he unbuttons her shirt, and she guesses he is asking for some kind of permission, and this is when she remembers the shame she felt the last time this happened.

She doesn't ever want to feel that way again.

Yet something feels different, the mysterious undercurrent of feeling between them painting the scene not cheap but precious.

She has not been touched by anyone in so long, and it occurs to her that she needs this contact, even if it was nothing but a flimsy pretence of intimacy.

Bonnie nods imperceptibly, tension easing off her spine when Damon's cool hands start moving again, undressing her more quickly than she might have imagined.

The sex is quick, satisfying, and gentle with a rough edge. She takes an odd pleasure from knowing that they might be discovered at any time, and she almost hopes for it, vaguely imagining Elena's displeased pout and Stefan's worried frown.

The violent orgasm empties her of everything, leaving her broken and helplessly confused in Damon's arms. He comes inside her with loud growl that echoes in her ears and sends a wave of panic through her sweaty body. Suddenly she is scared and angry, desperate to not hear anything he might say to her to belittle her or poke fun at her.

Because the bottom line is Bonnie still distrusts him, still doesn't understand what he wants from her.

It makes it worse that the vampire is not letting her get away, forcing her squirming frame against his larger one until they are practically spooning.

The tears come easily, uncontrolled and yet soothing.

She has wanted this, needed this, found a frightening release in this… and she has no idea why.

The sobs that rock her figure are painful, irrational, and unstoppable.

There must be something wrong with her if she felt more in a quickie with _Damon_ (who is the sum of everything she despises, who is notoriously obsessed with two other women) than in any half-failed relationship she has attempted to build so far.

"Why can't I be better than this?" she whimpers into the pillow, shuddering, anticipating the moment Damon will take offense at her words and pull her apart with his.

She needs to feel his loathing on her flesh so her world will find its axis again, and she needs to hate him again so the confusion will wither away. She needs boundaries, distances, punishments.

She wants Damon to tear her self-esteem apart so she won't have to be the one to do it, but the expected insults never slip out of his lips.

" _You are_. You are better than this. Better than any of us. This night is on me, Bonnie. My fault."

He breathes into her ear and he sounds so different that Bonnie might believe she is imagining it all if he wasn't holding her tight still.

She thinks this the kindest lie she has ever received from anyone, and it changes _everything_ , because she has no defense against it.

When the tears run out Bonnie experiences an odd lightness of being. Damon's hands are running up and down her arms, soothing. For the first she _knows_ , deep in her bones, that the invisible cord that joins her to the vampire behind her has never had anything to do with Elena. This volatile heat belongs to them only.

Maybe she doesn't understand it yet, but it's _there_ and it is no longer so difficult or shameful to accept.


	4. The Secret Language Of The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All control freaks hold on to their routines, whether they are human or not.

Under the daylight, it's easier to pretend that nothing is different from how it has always been. There's always someone around, between them, and it makes it easier to play the part, knowing what their audience expects.

But at night, there's nobody acting as a buffer between the psychotic vampire and the fire-loving witch: in the dark there are no labels and no distances and no third parties.

Bonnie will leave her bedroom's window open and go through her bedtime motions; she will turn off the light and wait. She will know when he is there, although she can't quite see him in the pitch black of the room.

She will be relieved at the familiar sinking weight of the edge of her bed, and she will come awake in a matter of seconds. She will sit up, or scoot over… and then it will be just skin on skin and lips on lips for either minutes or hours.

It always happens like this.

It's comforting for them both, the sheer predictability of an intimacy they never saw coming until they were already too dependent on it.

Damon moves like lightning when it comes to taking off all and every item of clothing separating their bodies from each other, a fact that Bonnie is still surprised at not finding off-putting.

She likes the contrast between their frames – the way his larger and cooler one makes her feel strangely sheltered when he hovers above her and kisses lingeringly every edge of her face. The darkness makes his featherlike caresses during foreplay feel like a dream, and so surrendering is easy, natural.

She can pretend it's just a fantasy, just the guilt-free, consequence-less imagination of a teenager whose house is empty a bit too often. She can forget that he flirts with others during daytime, and she is not forced to wonder where these nightly visits are going.

All that matters is that his touch teases her gently until she _needs_ him inside so badly that gentleness is not an option anymore.

Perhaps it should bother her the way they always start soft and end in a frenzied, animalistic mess but the truth is that she likes that contrast too, and the contradictions it implies.

There's a line between fucking and making love and it blurs in the space of seconds, so they can both enjoy the twisted comfort of not knowing which they are doing.

Some nights Damon's mouth will taste every inch of her skin, his hands will fondle every line and curve at leisure before she is ready. Others she will do the most of the exploring. There's a secret code of sounds and responses they are each learning and testing, testing and fool-proofing continuously, patiently. Like the body is a map hiding clues to a deeper treasure and their quest holds something sacred.

There's always a point when the hunger grows volatile, impatient – the skin itches with a hum of primal heat, the arousal becomes a vice that makes it impossible to breathe freely…

And that's the exact point the quest ends and tenderness becomes a faded memory.

Damon always kisses her deep on the mouth before he flips her over, on her hands and knees, and Bonnie might bet the gesture has some grand meaning to him, but it's also the exact sort of signal she is not yet ready to decipher.

His thrusts become harsher, deeper and sometimes downright vicious… viciously slow, that is. It's probably a sign of her deteriorating mental health that she is constantly begging for 'harder' and 'faster' or just plain old 'more'.

It's that sense of urgency and necessity that she reads into the hands that fist her long hair and clutch at her hips bruisingly that she truly, inherently craves.

It's the way she whimpers and begs for release that allows him to forget he might be afraid of this new development between them, of the power the witch holds over him.

It all comes down to needing each other without false pretenses and trusting each other beyond constraints.

Because every time she allows him to take over, she is counting on the carefulness underneath the superficial veneer of brutality, she is choosing to confide that he won't hurt her, just as much as Damon is trusting that she won't reject that other side of himself.

He never bites her, and she never asks him to.

Some mornings she awakes alone, missing something she refuses to recognize fully, some others she awakes tangled up in him, to sloppy good-morning kisses and quick goodbyes.

Bonnie pretends to not notice that, as weeks grow into months, the mornings she awakes without Damon are becoming less and less.

She has no code of behavior for the daylight hours. Yet.


End file.
